Self Flagellation - 2012/11/16

Yet another sun sets on the horizon
An ethereal backdrop for the scream
Which strives to wake the oblivious
From a fantasy our collective dream

Tis is the time for tea and crumpets
Yet dark red wine seems more fitting
Have a cigar and join us for a taste
Of the finest from ones now quitting

Supersonic wings distribute megatons
Who filled up the hands of the clods
With a power to wipe the world clean
Wielding weapons shunned by the Gods

Mushrooms now rising in the distance
Birth the fallout which now journeys
Over the dead desert turned to glass
Not be stopped by kings or attorneys

Rolling over in the restless respite
Cornered as your hostages of history
A lack of foresight which leads here
Compounding the ever growing mystery

The wise become the blind and repeat
Mistakes they thought they were past
Whoever shall inform the dying masses
That all we erect cannot hope to last

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